


Amethyst

by wheel_pen



Series: Loose Gems [7]
Category: Kitchen Confidential
Genre: F/M, Slavery, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-02
Updated: 2015-05-02
Packaged: 2018-03-28 18:25:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3865126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wheel_pen/pseuds/wheel_pen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A young woman, who may have some kind of supernatural origin, attaches herself to a brash chef in New York City.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Amethyst

**Author's Note:**

> The bad words are censored; that’s just how I do things.   
> Inherent in slavery and other forms of subjugation are dubious consent, unhealthy relationships, and violence.  
> I hope you enjoy this alternate universe, which I own nothing from.
> 
> For visual reference, Amethyst is played by Brittany Snow.

Jack clapped his hands together at the front of the kitchen, drawing everyone’s attention. “Okay, listen up, everybody!” he announced, barely able to keep the grin off his face. His excitement was palpable, though no one could figure out the purpose for it yet. “This is… Misty!” He indicated the blond woman standing next to him, already kitted out in a white Nolita kitchen uniform. “She’s my slave!” he added, practically giggling.

“Hey!” shouted one of the dishwashers, who happened to be black and clearly didn’t think Jack was funny.

Jack ignored the interruption. “So, she’s gonna be helping out around the kitchen for a while!” The other chefs started to roll their eyes. “Hey, hey, hey!” Jack chastised. “Seriously, anything you want her to do, just go for it!” Steven started to open his mouth to make a lewd remark and Jack cut him off. “Except that. But anything else—chopping, cleaning, taking the trash, whatever. Just heap it on.” His announcement made, Jack signaled for everyone to get back to work.

Jim sidled up to him. “So, does this mean I’m actually _above_ someone?” he asked eagerly.

“Er, yeah, I guess so,” Jack allowed, clearly not having thought of this. Not that he really cared one way or another.

“Yeah!” Jim celebrated, pumping his fist. He was tired of always being dumped on by everyone else—now it seemed that _he_ finally had someone to dump on himself.

“Easy there, buddy,” Jack cautioned, worried he might hurt himself in a fit of exuberance. He took the blond’s arm and drew her over. “Misty, this is Jim. Jim, Misty. Jim is gonna show you the ropes around the kitchen.”

“You can call me _Master_ Jim,” Jim told her, trying to sound superior.

“I’m sorry, I can only address Jack as ‘master,’” Misty replied politely. Jack grinned and shrugged at Jim as if to say, _Hey, what can you do?_

“Oh, right, sure, that’s cool,” Jim answered, folding immediately. “Okay, over here are the knives…”

It didn’t take long for Steven to corner Jack. “This is not a bloody playground for every wannabe cook you’re shagging,” he hissed in irritation. “She’s gonna be in the way, under foot—and anyway, if you’ve got to bring the girl you’re shagging into the kitchen, couldn’t you at least bring someone hotter?” he finished in disappointment. Not that Misty was unattractive, but she was more the girl-next-door-sweetheart type—her eyes were strikingly blue, but the rest of her didn’t exactly jump up and say, _Come and get it, big boy!_ Which was much more Steven’s type. And Jack’s too, he would have thought.

Jack smirked at him in his ignorance. “Oh, trust me, she’s hot,” he insisted. They both glanced over to see her mimicking Jim’s use of a garlic press. “In the right circumstances,” Jack added. “I mean, she’s like a little force of nature in bed! Like, Category 5.”

“Really,” Steven said dubiously, although Jack seemed sincere. He could hardly wait to share the details, in fact.

“She did this thing where—“ He shook his head suddenly. “Never mind, I’ll have to diagram it for you sometime.” Steven’s eyebrows shot up. “But then while I was asleep—she cleaned my entire apartment!” Clearly Jack was pleased by this. “And she’s all like, ‘Master, I am yours to command, what shall I do today?’”

“Kinky,” Steven agreed with interest.

“So I’m thinking, we could use a gofer in the kitchen since Mario quit, right?” Jack went on. “So it’s perfect. And, get this—the Cruncher’s gonna love this one—she’ll work for free!”

Now Steven’s eyebrows threatened to escape his face. “Free? Are you serious, mate? _Why?_ ”

Jack looked slightly hurt. “Because she wants to be around my awesomeness,” he explained, as though it should be obvious. “Look, I saved her life! She feels like she owes me.”

Steven took another look at her. “Oh, is this the girl from the alley? You didn’t _really_ save her life, it was just a drunk homeless guy,” he reminded his friend. “Still, that’s a good scheme to work. How long you think it’s gonna last?”

Jack shrugged. “I dunno, two or three days,” he predicted. “She’ll have to go back to wherever she works or something pretty soon.”

“Where does she work?”

“I don’t know, I’m just saying, she can’t keep up the ‘slave’ thing forever,” Jack explained. He broke into a huge grin. “But it’s gonna be awesome while it lasts!” Steven rolled his eyes and went back to work, wondering why _he_ never hit on the girl who wanted to play ‘master and slave’—with _him_ as the master, that is.

“I don’t know anything about cooking,” Misty was telling Jim. She didn’t sound embarrassed by this, just matter-of-fact. “Can you teach me? I think it would please my master.”

“Well, _sure_ , I can teach you to cook,” Jim assured her, puffing up slightly. Her utter faith in him made more of an impression than the ‘master’ comment. “I _am_ a trained chef, you know. Let’s start with chopping.” He picked up the appropriate knife and pointed out its distinguishing characteristics to her, noting with pleasure the attentive way she watched him. Most people in the kitchen, even new people, tended to blow him off right away.

Then he demonstrated chopping a zucchini. “Okay, now you try,” Jim insisted, letting her take his place. “Now just start out nice and slow, it might take you a while to get the hang of—“ He stopped as he saw the pile of chopped zucchini on the counter in front of her. The knife had moved so quickly in her hands that she’d demolished the entire rest of the vegetable in less time than it took him to speak. And every cube was perfect in its dimensions. “Well—yeah—I thinking you’re getting it,” he squeaked.

Her expression was one of solemn satisfaction, as if she’d successfully completed one link in a long but defined chain of achievement. “I understand,” she told him. “Please show me something else.”

They had gone through various ways of cutting things and were now onto stirring when Jim got up the nerve to ask her a personal question. “So… your name’s Misty, huh?” Well, not really _that_ personal.

She stared at his hands as they beat some egg whites. “My full name is Amethyst,” she informed him. “My master prefers to shorten this to Misty.”

“Right, your ‘master’… and that’s Jack, right?” Jim confirmed. “So, Jack’s like your… boyfriend, huh?” Just in case he possibly had a shot.

“I’m not familiar with that term,” Misty replied. “He’s my master.”

“Okay,” Jim agreed. He was a little weirded out, but this _was_ the big city, after all—other than this ‘master’ fixation Misty seemed pretty normal. “Uh—do you want to try—“ Within moments she had created another bowl of perfectly pointed beaten egg whites. “You sure you didn’t know anything about cooking before you came here?” he asked her, trying to be more cynical the way his co-workers were. It didn’t sit well on him.

“I was not required to cook human food in the past,” Misty informed him.

“Human food, right,” Jim agreed, catching that little remark. “Uh, so what do you eat, then?”

“I survive on sexual energy.” There was a crash as Jim dropped the bowl he was holding. Misty frowned. “Is that part of the technique?” She threatened to drop her own bowl.

“No, no, no,” he insisted, saving the crockery. “That’s just—er—um—sexual energy?” he repeated, clearing his throat.

“Yes, I must have sexual contact with my master on a regular basis in order to maintain my health and energy,” Misty went on informatively.

“Huh,” Jim decided. “That’s, uh—that’s probably like a no-carb diet, right?” Misty blinked at him without comprehension. “Let me show you _folding_ ,” he decided.

An hour later Jack took a break from his own work and pulled Jim aside. “So, how’s Misty working out?” he questioned the younger man, glancing over at the blond. He’d been in his office doing some much-hated paperwork and hadn’t gotten a chance to supervise her. “She hasn’t been hazed too much, has she?” She certainly didn’t _seem_ troubled by co-worker harassment as she began to strip a head of lettuce.

Jim’s eyes were wide. “She’s phenomenal!” he breathed, obviously in awe. Jack frowned at him slightly. “She’s like—a force of nature!”

“Don’t steal my metaphors,” Jack told him.

“She’s picked up everything I’ve taught her,” Jim went on, “and she can do it _so fast_ , just like—“ Jack started to roll his eyes at the exaggeration, then did a double-take as he saw that Misty was now standing in front of a huge pile of finely-chopped lettuce—far more than one head’s worth. Jim saw what he was looking at and nodded. “I told her to chop up the lettuce for the coleslaw.”

The pile of lettuce shavings grew as they watched, fascinated, until Jack began to get concerned. “How _much_ lettuce did you tell her to chop?”

Jim shrugged. “Well, I just told her to _start_ ,” he explained. “I didn’t think she’d get so far—“

“Misty!” Jack sailed across the kitchen to her side; she was practically hidden by the tumbling pile of chopped lettuce. “Stop cutting it now!” She set the knife down and, on impulse, Jack touched it with his fingertip. It was warm. “Uh-huh, so, we’ve got enough chopped lettuce here for a week’s worth of coleslaw,” he pointed out. She blinked at him. “Lettuce doesn’t keep that well,” he spelled out. “It’s gonna go bad before we can serve it.”

This, she seemed to understand. “Oh.” She frowned. “I haven’t been taught how to put it back together yet, Master.”

Jack stared at her, but she seemed to be serious. “Jim!” he summoned, and the young man popped up at his side. “Next time be more specific about how much she should do,” he ordered. Then he raised his voice to be heard around the kitchen. “Everyone, all the salads tonight are now _chopped_ salads,” he announced. “Finely chopped. Why don’t you go learn about fish from Teddy?” he suggested to her, nodding towards his seafood chef.

“This is a shrimp,” Teddy explained to her a moment later. “This is how we shell the shrimp for tonight’s seafood entrée.” She watched him with disturbing intensity, then repeated the action on her own shrimp. “Good,” he told her patronizingly. It wasn’t that shelling shrimp was difficult. It was just that—“Now, shell all these,” he ordered, pointing to a giant ice chest full of the tiny shrimp. That should keep her occupied for a while.

Not long after Teddy glanced up to see her at Seth’s station, learning how to sift flour, and he stomped over with a frown. “I thought I told you to shell those shrimp,” he snapped—he wasn’t really that upset as there was plenty of time until the dinner rush, but reliability was important in the kitchen work. Plus it was a good excuse to remind her of her place.

“The art of flour sifting is of much greater importance than shrimp shelling,” Seth informed him loftily, and Teddy narrowed his gaze at his friend dangerously.

“You poached my shrimp sheller?”

Seth gulped. “Actually, she was just standing around doing nothing,” he replied, tossing the girl under the bus.

“I finished shelling the shrimp,” Misty explained to Teddy politely. “You seemed to be busy, so I asked someone else if they could teach me something.”

“You could _not_ have finished shelling all those shrimp,” Teddy scoffed. “Not well, anyway. Come on, Blondie, come back here.”

“My master prefers me to be called Misty,” she offered.

“Look, _I’m_ your master right now,” Teddy began to threaten dramatically, though not so dramatically that Misty should have drawn back in horror like she did.

“Jack is my master,” she told Teddy warily. “I must do as he commands me. And _only_ him.”

Teddy feared she was actually serious. “Okay,” he agreed in a placating tone. “But your, uh, _master_ told you to help me, and _I_ need you to finish shelling the shrimp,” he explained.

“I finished shelling the shrimp,” Misty repeated, although she didn’t sound defensive. Teddy’s reiteration of the proper order of things had relaxed her somewhat.

“Right,” he scoffed, finally reaching the ice chest. He flipped the lid open. “You call these—“ He finally looked. “—shelled?”

Jack appeared behind them. “Is there a problem?” Misty started to kneel before him and Jack grabbed her shoulders and pulled her back up with a nervous laugh. “Whoa! Hey, not in the kitchen, okay?”

Teddy began to dig through the ice chest. “They can’t _all_ be—“

“Got the shrimp shelled already, huh?” Jack noted to Teddy with approval. “Good job.” He patted Misty’s arm. “You’re learning from the seafood master here.”

“Should I call him ‘master,’ Master?” Misty asked, sounding pained at the idea.

“What? No,” Jack scoffed, humoring her. “I’m the top master around here.” She seemed relieved by this idea. “Would you quit fondling the shrimp?” he added to Teddy, who was still pawing the pile. “It’s getting kind of weird.”

“But how did she get them all shelled?” Teddy wondered, open-mouthed. “Okay, who was helping with the shrimp-shelling?” he demanded of the kitchen at large. It was no use; it would have required a small army to get the task done in the amount of time she’d had, and he definitely would have noticed _that_.

Jack looked like his throat had suddenly gone dry. “Oh, you had Misty do that, huh? Well, she’s got very quick hands. Look, why don’t you go help Seth some more?” he suggested to the blond. She bowed slightly at him and left.

“This is serious black magic, Jack,” Teddy insisted. “No human could have shelled all these shrimp.”

“Oh, come on,” Jack tried sarcastically. “Don’t exaggerate. She’s just efficient. Uh, but be careful what you tell her to do, she seems kind of literal-minded,” he added in a cautionary tone.

“Your little slave-girl is a wonder-worker,” Steven commented a while later. “D’you think you could get her to wear a little gold bikini? You know, like Princess Leia?”

“I think that would be a hazard when she was working the grill,” Jack replied suspiciously. “What’d she do for you, anyway?”

“I had her massaging the filet mignon, and _no_ , that is not a euphemism,” he answered. “That beef is gonna be so tender, it will _melt_ in people’s mouths.” He glanced over at the blond, who was back with Seth, cutting little stars out of a pie crust. “You, uh, you wouldn’t mind if I showed her my appreciation, would you? You know?” He waggled his eyebrows and wiggled his fingers. “Just a little friendly pat, you know?”

Jack blinked at him. “You want to know if I’m okay with you smacking Misty’s a-s?” he translated, with only mild disbelief. It _was_ Steven, after all.

“Look, I’m trying to be on the up-and-up, mate,” Steven protested.

“No, I appreciate that,” Jack assured him.

“I just didn’t know if you had _designs_ on the girl, or if yours was just a relationship of opportunity,” he went on, delightfully convoluted as usual.

Jack gave it some thought. “Well, I guess you could try,” he allowed. “But if she gets upset I’ll have to play the heavy.”

“Oh, understood, mate,” Steven replied. “Well, off I go then.” He grinned naughtily and sauntered over to the pastry station.

Jack hurried to find a good vantage point from which he could observe the contact without _appearing_ to observe, and thus he ended up at Jim’s station. “So, Jim, tell me about the salad,” he said in a friendly tone, right before dodging between the hanging pots so as to see Steven approaching Misty and Seth.

He completely missed Jim’s beaming face. “You want to know about the salads?” he repeated excitedly. “You want _me_ to tell _you_ about the salads?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Jack insisted, not looking at Jim at all.

Jim began rattling off the salad ingredients for the dinner menu—including the finely-chopped lettuce--as Steven strolled up to Misty. “Thanks for massaging the beef, love,” he told her, making the task sound as dirty as possible, and then he casually reached out and squeezed her rear end.

In an instant Steven found himself on the kitchen floor, wailing in pain, while Seth was squealing like a little girl from on _top_ of the pastry counter. The air was filled with finely-sifted flour from the bowl that had been knocked over as Misty executed some kind of judo-esque move that ended with her foot in the middle of Steven’s back, holding his arm at a threatening angle.

“Only my master is allowed to touch me,” Misty told Steven coldly, pulling on his arm.

“Whoa!” Jack shouted, scrambling around the end of the bench. “Misty, let him go! Let him go, now!” Obediently she dropped Steven’s arm and he groaned, face still pressed against the tiles. “What are you doing?” Jack demanded of her. “You could’ve broken his arm! And look what you did to Seth!” He paused as he realized his pastry chef didn’t really seem to be hurt. “What _did_ she do to you?”

“Well, nothing,” Seth admitted. “It was just scary!”

Jack shook his head. “But anyway—“

Misty immediately dropped to her knees in front of Jack. “I’m so sorry, Master!” she told him sorrowfully. “I will allow anyone you wish to touch me!”

Immediately Jack felt like a heel, especially because Steven was clambering to his feet now and seemed none the worse for wear. The Brit had certainly had rougher treatment in his life, though he wasted no time scooting to the other side of the kitchen. “No, no, look, you don’t have to put up with that c—p if you don’t want to,” he assured her. “But next time, just—slap his hand away or something, no need to go completely postal on someone.”

“Yes, Master, I understand,” she said obediently, still hanging her head.

The position was starting to feel weird to him and he patted her shoulder. “Okay, come on, get up. That’s right, get up.” Misty stared at her shoes despondently; Jack feared she might start to cry. “Don’t worry about it. Happens here all the time,” he claimed. “No blood, no foul.”

“You’re very merciful, Master,” she nodded, sniffling only a little.

“Hey, that’s me!” Jack said, with forced brightness. “Jack Bourdain, the Merciful Master! Isn’t that right, guys? Seth?” The pastry chef, still skittish, whipped around and nodded quickly. “There, you see? Why don’t you just clean up this mess and, uh—“ He looked around for a safer place to stick her. “Then go back and help Jim with the salad. You like Jim, right? He’s nice.” She nodded and seemed to feel a little better. “Okay. Good girl.” Finally she looked up at him, beaming at the praise, and Jack wondered if that had really been the right thing to say. He crept away quickly, not turning his back on her, and made a beeline for Steven.

“Okay, _that’s_ not happening again,” Steven assured him.

“No kidding, I thought she was gonna rip your arm off,” Jack agreed. “You okay, man?”

Steven rolled his shoulder and only winced a little. “Yeah, nothing permanent. Bit touchy though, ain’t she?”

“Well, she’s never worked in a kitchen before,” Jack decided. “She’s not used to the flow of things. Maybe once she settles in—“

Steven snorted. “You said she’d only be here two or three days,” he reminded his friend. “And for that time, I will be giving her a _very_ wide berth.”

“Yeah, that’s probably best,” Jack admitted.

A few hours later Misty had chopped, sifted, whisked, and scrubbed her way through the kitchen, with her ability to mimic whatever task she was shown with uncanny accuracy and speed both delighting and disturbing everyone around her. She even spoke Spanish like most of the dishwashers, although her conversational skills appeared to be limited in _all_ languages. Jack was hunched over one of the counters testing the presentation of one of the night’s entrées when she caught up with him.

“Excuse me, Master,” Misty began politely.

“Kinda busy right now,” he said, without looking up. “Someone hand me the pan of fried okra!”

Steven reached for it but backed away when he saw Misty approaching. “Oh, hey, it’s gonna be hot,” Jim warned her in a friendly way. “You might want a potholder or—“ He stopped talking and started gawking when she picked the pan up by its stove-heated handle and carried it back to Jack without a flinch, setting it down on the grill nearest him.

“Thanks,” Jack tossed off, then realized who had brought it and straightened up quickly. “Oh my G-d, are you okay?” He grabbed her hand and examined the palm but found no sign of redness.

“She just grabbed it with her bare hand!” Jim reported, in case there was any doubt.

“Well, maybe it’s not—“ Jack tested the handle and yanked his hand away quickly. “J‑‑‑s, that’s hot!”

“Black magic,” Teddy hissed, popping up by Jack’s ear momentarily.

Jack glared at him, then turned back to Misty. “Did you want something?”

She knelt down in front of him again, which sadly people were getting used to by now. “I’m hungry, Master,” she told him. “If it please you, may I have something to eat?”

“Sure,” he agreed, feeling a bit silly being magnanimous over such a small thing. “Uh, I guess it’s about time for the staff meal, right?” He glanced over at the bubbling pot of stew on the stove, made from whatever leftovers and tough bits hadn’t been quite bad enough to toss straight in the trash. Unappetizing, yes, but free, and to much of their staff that was the biggest attraction. The kitchen was full of favoritism, though, and Jack wasn’t above showing it to her. “Or Jim could make you a grilled cheese sandwich or something.”

“I’m so sorry, Master, I don’t eat human food,” Misty replied. She didn’t _sound_ especially sorry, but that was probably because it was the third or fourth time she had mentioned this to Jack. He’d thought she was just kidding, but this was taking the joke a bit far.

He bent down a little to address her without _everyone_ hearing. Of course, then they all just strained even more to continue eavesdropping. “Okay, I get the whole ‘hungry as code for sex’ thing,” he assured her, “and it’s kinda fun, if a little clichéd, if you don’t mind my saying so, but I _am_ kinda busy working right now, so…”

“I apologize for inconveniencing you, Master,” Misty replied in a normal tone, so he stood back up. She _did_ sound kind of sorry this time. “In order to continue performing the tasks you assign me, I must have sustenance.”

“Oh, come on, don’t be cruel to the girl,” Steven mocked, from a safe distance. “She just wants a little shot of Jack!”

Jack rolled his eyes and looked down at Misty in frustration. Concerned, Jim sidled up to him and spoke discreetly in his ear. “She consumes sexual energy,” he muttered helpfully.

“ _What?_ ” Jack demanded, turning to him. “She told _you_ that, too?”

The younger man shrugged, suddenly embarrassed. “Um, she seemed kinda serious, so…”

Jack sighed and hauled Misty to her feet. “Okay, fine, come on,” he agreed. “Let’s go ‘get you something to eat.’” He pulled her over to the walk-in cooler and shut the door behind him, to the snickers of the kitchen staff. Once inside, Misty smiled and put her arms around him, but Jack’s mood was far from amorous. “Look, I said you could hang out here and work for a couple days,” he began sharply, “but that doesn’t include embarrassing me in front of everyone.” He was fully capable of doing that on his own—he didn’t need any help from anyone.

“I’m sorry, Master,” Misty responded, taken aback.

“And enough with this master-slave thing,” he added. “In the bedroom, fine, but all the kneeling and everything is getting weird. I mean, I’m the boss, and I know we don’t always stick to a completely professional work environment,” he admitted, “but there are limits.”

Misty hung her head again and Jack willed himself not to be swayed by the show of emotion. “I’m sorry I’m not doing as you wish, Master,” she apologized in a small voice. “This environment is foreign to me, and—“

He rubbed her arms. “No, no, you’re doing a great job,” he assured her, feeling like a chump. Why did he have to be so soft in the head about women? “You’ve done tons of great stuff around the place already. It’s just—if you could blend in a little more—“

She lifted her blue eyes to meet his and Jack felt himself being sucked in, the way he had last night—when he’d first seen her in the alley, when he’d brought her back to his apartment, when he’d stayed up half the night having mind-blowing sex in every room except maybe the hall closet. It wasn’t just physical—he’d been with enough women, had great sex with enough women, that he knew there was something else going on, though he didn’t believe he could somehow have… _fallen_ for her, not in less than twenty-four hours, not when he knew so little about her. Maybe it was some kind of residual protector instinct kicking in—even if all he’d done was shove a drunk guy away from her and offer her a place to dry off from the rain, it had obviously meant a lot to her.

Despite what he’d told Steven about her having a job “somewhere,” he somehow knew she didn’t—he wanted to pretend she was just an off-kilter girl he’d picked up, but deep down Jack understood she wasn’t normal. And that was before the speed-chopping and judo throws and skin impervious to burns. He understood she didn’t have a normal life, a job and an apartment, to get back to when she was done playing a kinky game with him. And he really had a feeling that she wasn’t going to go away anytime soon. Definitely not in a couple days.

“What am I doing,” Jack muttered, more to himself. “I thought I left the crazy people and the paranoid delusions behind with the booze and drugs…”

“I’m not crazy,” Misty assured him with a smile, reaching up to slide her arms around his neck. He let her this time. “I’m just hungry.”

Jack grinned down at her, thinking of all the other assignations the walk-in had been used for. One more wouldn’t stain its reputation—or his. “Well, let’s have a quick bite to eat, then,” he agreed suggestively, leaning in to kiss her. She was a fantastic kisser. He couldn’t explain why, what it was exactly that she did, but it always left him breathless, like he’d been on a hard jog through the park.

She let him up for air and Jack gasped in what he hoped wasn’t an unattractive, hooked-fish kind of way and let himself be gently pushed against the wall. She knelt in front of him again, sliding her hands down his chest as she did so, and this time Jack had no intention of stopping whatever it was she wanted to do from that position. She didn’t want just a warm-up though, apparently; moments later Jack found himself gasping again and struggling to stay upright as his legs threatened to give out beneath him. He swore he saw stars, maybe due to the lack of blood flow to his brain at that point.

Misty put him to rights efficiently and stood back up. Service with a smile, Jack noted dully, when her face resolved into a single image in front of him again. “That was—um—“ He made an inarticulate noise that he hoped expressed the pleasure and utter senselessness she had wrought.

“Thank you, Master,” she replied, pleased. “I’ll get back to work now.”

“Wha—“ He had just enough sense to grab her arm before she opened the door. “Don’t you, um—I mean, just, you know, give me a minute and I’ll—um—return the favor.” Although he felt like he was going to need far more than a minute to become fully coordinated again.

“No need,” Misty told him cheerfully. “This will suffice for the midday meal. I may require a full course tonight, however.”

“Oh, you can have it,” Jack promised, vowed really. “The full buffet. All you can eat.”

“Thank you, Master.” With that, Misty slipped from the walk-in and went back to work.

Jack was still inside a few minutes later, when Steven went to check on him. “You okay, mate?” he asked his friend, who was sitting on a crate with a glassy look in his eye.

“Hmm? Oh, yeah. Yeah. Good. Super-good,” Jack replied groggily.

Steven’s eyes widened. “Wow, that must have been some job she did on you,” he observed with a touch of envy. “Are you gonna need a nap or what?”

“No,” Jack insisted, standing with assistance. Once he was on his feet his eyes focused and the energy seemed to course through him again. “I feel… really good,” he decided, almost surprised by this. “I feel like I could… run all the dishes out myself tonight,” he went on, slightly excited. “Hey, maybe I should do that, wouldn’t that be great, ‘Here’s your meal, by the way, I’m Chef Bourdain, just wanted to make sure you liked it’?”

Steven blinked at him. “No, that _wouldn’t_ be great,” he countered. He peered closely at Jack’s eyes. “Are you baked?”

Jack looked at him in surprise, slightly offended. “No. NO. Of course not. Why do you ask?”

“You are definitely under the influence of something,” Steven mused. “A shot of Misty, perhaps.”

“She is… something else,” Jack agreed. Which was the understatement of the year.

**

“What in the h—l were you thinking?! Are you trying to ruin me?! Or are you just that stupid?!” Jack shouted, his face red with fury.

Misty knelt in front of him in the middle of the kitchen, her hands covering her face as she sobbed. “I’m so-so sorry, Master!” she hiccupped.

“Yeah, well, _sorry_ ’s not gonna bring my quail eggs back, is it?” Jack snapped.

“No, Master,” Misty agreed miserably. She bent over to make herself even smaller, even lower, and clutched pitifully at the hem of his apron.

Jack’s hands twitched like he was fighting the urge to strangle her. Then he took a breath and tried to let the anger go—not completely, but just a little bit, just enough to think about how he was going to fix this mess. When he looked up around the kitchen he saw everyone staring at him for an instant, before they all whipped around and got back to work. Although his best friend Steven was still giving him a disapproving look.

“What?!” Jack barked at him. Did he really want to be next on the list?

Unfortunately Steven was not intimidated by Jack’s anger. “You’re the one who told her to throw the eggs out, mate,” he reminded his friend.

“No, no, it was _my_ fault!” Misty corrected from the floor. Her face was as red as Jack’s had been, but also twisted up as if in physical pain as the tears continued to flow.

“That wasn’t what I meant!” Jack insisted defensively, ignoring her input. “Clearly! If she’d had an ounce of common sense she would have realized that!”

“Yes, Master, absolutely,” Misty vowed desperately.

“I don’t think common sense is her strong point,” Teddy pointed out, giving Jack a narrow look, “considering she’s with _you_.”

“What, _I’m_ the bad guy here?” Jack surmised with disbelief. As his head cleared, though, he was beginning to realize they were right—which he quickly tried to cover up. “I’m not the one who tossed the _five hundred dollar box_ of quail eggs in the trash!” The looks he was getting from his staff seemed to suggest that _this_ wasn’t the ultimate act of villainy in the scene.

At that moment, just to make things better, Mimi walked in. “What’s going on?” she demanded, certain it couldn’t be anything good.

“Nothing,” Jack snapped at her. Wasn’t there always a kitchen assistant sobbing and groveling before him? “Take the quail eggs off the menu,” he added with a sigh.

Of course Mimi couldn’t just nod and walk out. “Take them _off_? Why? The _New York Times_ gave us a five-star review based on those quail eggs! In half an hour people are going to start walking through that door asking for quail eggs!”

“There aren’t any f-----g quail eggs!” Jack bellowed. “None! They’re gone! So take them off the menu _before_ anyone can order them!” Misty wailed in despair and wrapped her arms around Jack’s leg. “Can’t you see you’re upsetting her?” he added to Mimi, deflecting vigorously.

Mimi gave a disgusted sigh and turned on her heel and left, which was at least one positive development. Jack also sighed and leaned back against the counter, rubbing his face as he tried to think of some solution. The weight around his ankle hampered him, however. “Stop it,” he told her, quietly this time. “Come on, stop it.” He leaned down and patted her shoulder. “Misty, come on, get up.”

“I’ve betrayed my master,” she sniffled despondently. “I deserve to be flogged!”

“I’m not going to flog you,” Jack assured her.

“I deserve to have my flesh flayed slowly from my body with a dull paring knife!”

Jack stared at her. “Whoa, no, I’m not gonna do that, either. Probably the yelling was really the worst thing,” he admitted. “And that’s over, so could you get up, please? That’s it.” She stood up shakily, brushing back the tears that still leaked from her eyes.

“You’re so merciful, Master,” she murmured, though the adoration was somewhat tainted by the tears.

“I know,” he agreed quickly. But on to more urgent matters. “Steven, do you think you could, _somehow_ , get us another box of quail eggs? Even a little one—“

“Well, I don’t know,” the Brit answered doubtfully. “Rather late date, isn’t it? Gonna cost a pretty penny. And,” he added thoughtfully, “you _did_ call Misty stupid.”

Jack’s eyes widened. “What? You’re gonna—you’re gonna hold that over me?” Steven shrugged a little as if it were no great matter, but—yeah, he was. “I do not believe this!” Jack scoffed. “I’ve said things a million times worse than that! Haven’t I—Jim?” He chose the young chef knowing he had been the victim of many a Jack temper tantrum.

“Well, I dunno,” Jim hedged, thinking back. “I didn’t really mind that much, I guess.”

Jack looked around the kitchen at the faces watching him. “This is a conspiracy,” he decided, eyes narrowing.

Steven started to pick up his tools again. “Well, you know, if you can’t find it in you to apologize, I understand,” he began breezily. “Guess we’ll just have to save those quail eggs for next week, huh?”

Jack thought over his options quickly. Pride was a difficult thing for him to overcome. He was used to flying off the handle and getting away with it—not that he never apologized, he had plenty of experience apologizing, but it seemed to work best for him when no one _expected_ him to apologize. If they all thought he was such a huge jacka-s that an apology was a stunning reversal, that, in and of itself, usually bought him more time. That and the make-up sex, if applicable.

Hmm, he was starting to see now that perhaps that wasn’t such a good strategy.

It was all about finding the patterns. Finding the patterns and correcting them.

“Okay,” he agreed. He took a deep breath and turned to face the blond. “Misty—uh, could you look at me, please?” Maybe that was a bad idea—her blue eyes were huge and rimmed in red from the tears, and her face was still blotchy. Suddenly he really _did_ feel like a jacka-s, not just like he _ought_ to feel like one. “Misty, I’m sorry I yelled at you,” he began, not even remembering that that part wasn’t required. “I should’ve given you better instructions. You’re not stupid; it was my fault.” For an instant her eyes were lit from within, as if the sheer joy at his sincerity had somehow illuminated her. And then they rolled back and she fainted dead away. “Holy s—t!” Jack muttered, catching her. “Misty? Misty?”

“Well, I guess that worked,” Steven decided, untying his apron. “I’ll go find you some quail eggs.”

“Is she dead?” Jim worried, hurrying over.

“No, she’s not dead,” Jack snipped at him, having completely forgotten any promise about being nicer to people. “She’s just—you know, she’s emotional.”

“Only when you’re screaming at her,” Seth dug.

“Hey, he apologized,” Teddy reprimanded his friend. “So, we can’t hold it over his head anymore. Even if he _was_ a low, crusty bit of fish gristle.”

“Thanks,” Jack said sarcastically. He scooped the blond up. “I’m gonna put her in my office.”

Jim trailed them and opened the office door for Jack. A moment later he reappeared in the office with a small bottle as Jack was laying Misty on the couch. “Here.”

“What’s this?” Jack asked in annoyance. He pulled the cap off the bottle and the smell knocked him back on his rear end. “What the h—l?!”

“Smelling salts,” Jim explained.

“Why the h—l do you have smelling salts?”

“Well, I get woozy sometimes,” Jim replied, as Jack sat up and gingerly waved the bottle under Misty’s nose. “You know, I’ve got this glucose imbalance and—“

The blond gave a start and her eyes popped open. “Yeah, yeah, whatever,” Jack said, shoving the bottle back at Jim. “Thanks. Go away now.” He pushed the younger man out the door and shut it after him, then turned back to the couch to help Misty sit up. “Hey,” he said softly, taking a seat beside her. “You okay?”

She sniffed a little and nodded, staring at her hands. Jack eased his arm around her and she leaned gratefully against him, clutching his hand tightly when he slipped it into one of hers. “I’m sorry I yelled at you, baby,” he told her again. It was easier without everyone watching—although past experience told him that sometimes it didn’t seem as real if there wasn’t an audience. Another tendency he would have to check.

“I deserved it,” Misty insisted moistly.

“It was just a mistake. I know you don’t like it when I yell at you.” She shook her head in agreement. “What was all that flogging stuff about?” he dared to ask, and she only shrugged, which made him uneasy. “You know I wouldn’t ever… hit you or anything, right?” One of the few sins he had avoided committing thus far in his life. Misty nodded, but he had a feeling she hadn’t really thought about it. “Have you ever…” Jack hesitated, not sure he really wanted to know, but then he forced the words out. “Have you ever been… beaten or anything…” He trailed off, trying to make the question seem casual. As if it _could_ be casual.

“Only when I deserved it,” she replied, in a really disturbing tone. Then she smirked a little bit. “And a few times when I didn’t.”

“Look, that’s not right, okay?” Jack told her. He found that he didn’t have much practice at being serious, at least about things other than cooking. He usually shied away from anything that resembled _serious_. “I’m not gonna… _beat_ you or anything, and—next time I’m being an a‑s, just stand up for yourself and tell me so.” She gave him a look that suggested this was very unlikely to happen. He felt he had tried, though. “So…” Jack went on, trying to lighten the mood a little, “Steven’s on an egg hunt, and, well, they probably don’t need me in the kitchen for anything…” Actually they were probably desperate for him to come back and fix some crisis; any minute the screaming would be loud enough to hear in his office. “…so maybe we have time for a quick snack,” he finished suggestively. The idea seemed to cheer her up.

**

The kitchen of Nolita was a busy place in the hour before they officially opened for dinner as everyone scurried around making sure all was prepared for the diners’ requests. This usually entailed a lot of chopping, grating, stirring, and other repetitive but necessary tasks, and there was no one better at that than—

“Misty! Hey, has anyone seen Misty?” Jack demanded, scanning the kitchen for her.

“Nope,” Steven answered. “Jim had her last.”

“We were just cooking pasta!” he insisted, when Jack turned his gaze on him. “I don’t know where she went!”

The door from the dining room swung open and Tanya scooted in, her steps tiny due to the tightness of her dress. From the way her face was scrunched up it was obvious she had some bad news to impart. “Um, Jack?” she began hesitantly.

“What?” he asked, checking the cabinets in case Misty had crawled into one.

“Um, Misty’s throwing up all over the ladies’ room.”

Jack straightened up and slowly turned to look at her, and Tanya shrank back. “What?”

The hostess nodded to reinforce her point. “It’s really gross.”

Jack sighed. “Okay. I’m coming.”

A few minutes later Jack reappeared in the kitchen, guiding a pale and clammy-looking Misty back to his office so she could lie down on the couch. Then he washed his hands. Then he changed his shirt. Then he gave up and changed his entire outfit. And took off his shoes. No one in the kitchen wanted to look too closely at the discarded items.

Then he walked to the front of the room, hands on his hips, and gave them all an evil, searching glare. “So _who_ was it,” he began menacingly, “who told Misty she _had_ to eat something, to make sure it was done?” People quickly shook their heads when he pinned them with his gaze—until he got to Jim, who swallowed nervously. “ _You_ ,” Jack hissed.

“It-it was just a couple pieces of pasta,” Jim tried to explain, but he already knew he’d lost.

“Misty can’t eat human food!” Jack reminded him, loudly. “Not even a little bit!”

“Right, I understand,” Jim assured him. “Um, sorry?”

“No, you _don’t_ understand,” Jack corrected. “But maybe after you’ve scrubbed down the ladies’ room, you will.” Jim blinked at him, horrified. “ _Before_ the restaurant opens!” Jack prodded, and Jim nodded quickly and started to run from the kitchen. “And my shoes, too!” Jack shouted after him.

**

It was about 1am on a Friday night—make that Saturday morning—and the Snake Pit was crowded as usual. The chefs of Nolita had left the lesser staff behind to clean up and were enjoying a relaxing end to their hectic day with a few beers—or in Jack’s case, soda water with lime. Despite the fact that they’d worked together all afternoon and evening, the men still sat at the same table, razzing each other about the events of the day and each other’s respective abilities to score even a conversation with various women around them.

Of course, Jack had had what he considered a massive failure the night before and no one was about to let him forget that.

“You’re whipped, that’s the problem,” Steven opined knowledgeably.

“I’m not whipped,” Jack protested with a nervous laugh. “Misty and I aren’t even in, like, a _relationship_ or anything.”

“Let’s see,” Seth began obnoxiously. “You live with her, you have sex _only_ with her, _and_ you gave her a job at your restaurant. I think that qualifies as a relationship.”

“And also, whipped,” Steven added.

“No, no, no,” Jack insisted. “We aren’t _exclusive_ or anything. I mean, hello, I hit on that woman last night and Misty didn’t care. She just sat here and watched.”

“Uh, she didn’t care because you _failed_ ,” Teddy pointed out. “You bombed so bad that I’m kind of embarrassed to be sitting next to you right now.”

“She looked kind of sad,” Jim observed, dropping a wet blanket on the mood as usual. “When you were talking to that other woman.”

Jack rolled his eyes and ignored that. “She didn’t care because we aren’t in a _relationship_ ,” he insisted. “She could go and… hit on… some other guy. I guess. And I wouldn’t care.” He didn’t even sound convincing to himself, let alone his friends, so he decided to change the direction of the conversation. “And look, there she is again! That brunette, I mean. Over at the bar, talking to her friends.” His tone suggested the woman had some nerve showing up at the Snake Pit the night after turning her back on his come-on.

“Probably giggling about you, mate,” Steven suggested in a world-weary way, as though you couldn’t expect any better of such creatures. “You know, maybe Teddy’s right. The air around you is a little tainted right now.”

That was not the attitude Jack was hoping for. “Hey, don’t knock my mojo,” he warned. “Last night was an off night, granted, but I’m feelin’ it tonight. Just… let me finish my drink first.”

“Yes, carbonated, non-alcoholic liquid courage should do the trick,” Teddy agreed dryly.

“Hey, it’s got lime, too,” Jack pointed out.

“Hello, hello,” Steven said quickly, getting everyone’s attention. “Look what just walked in.” She was a blond, not too tall, though her legs looked longer due to the short, sparkly red dress she wore. It wasn’t just that she was attractive; she _knew_ she was attractive, and she knew everyone else knew it, too.

“Look at those legs,” gushed Seth.

“Nice a-s,” Teddy judged.

“D—n, she is hot,” Jack agreed.

“It’s all about attitude,” Steven observed with admiration. “That is a _promenade_ she’s doing, gentlemen. Takin’ a walk so everyone can see her. Probably some friends of her ex in the bar she wants to show off to.”

“Why do women do that thing with their hair where it covers half their face?” Jim wondered. “How do they _see_?” The others would have rolled their eyes at him and his PG-rated thoughts, but they didn’t want to look away from the blond.

“Well,” Steven decided, “I think I’m gonna have to try my luck here.”

“Wait a minute,” Jack interrupted. “I think I should get the first shot with her.”

Steven gave this some thought. “Mmmm… no,” he decided. “You got beat down last night, so tonight you have start lower on the ladder. That’s the rule.”

“That’s not a rule!” Jack protested. “No, really, what rule is that?”

“Steven’s Rule, number seventy-two,” Steven tossed off, starting to stand.

Then the blond turned in their direction, and he froze halfway out of his seat.

“Hey, it’s Misty,” Jim pointed out, while the others were still staring. He shivered a little. “Does anyone else feel kind of uncomfortable now?”

“Not me,” Jack replied cheerfully.

Misty sauntered around the table, past the still awkwardly half-standing Steven, and stopped at Jack. “Is this seat taken?” she asked in a low, breathy tone, brushing her legs around his so she could sit on his lap. Then she leaned in and kissed him—just enough to let everyone know she was right where she wanted to be. “I’m not very good at judging the expressions of humans,” she admitted, pulling back.

“Oh, I’m happy,” Jack assured her eagerly, pressing her in closer.

That wasn’t who she was talking about, though. “That woman over there appears to be somewhat… displeased now.”

“Woman? What woman?” As far as Jack was concerned, Misty was the only woman in the room, possibly in the universe.

“The woman who was rude to you last night,” Misty explained, her tone slightly vicious at the memory. “I think she’s now regretting her actions.”

“I don’t even remember,” Jack claimed, which was true in that moment. Of course, he found Misty extremely sexy when she smiled that ‘I’m hungry’ smile in his apartment or his office or even the walk-in cooler, but—he’d never thought of her as short-skirt, high-heels, everyone-staring-at-her-as-she-walked sexy. “You are so beautiful,” he told her impulsively, in a tone that was almost surprised.

“Steven? Are you okay?” Jim asked, pushing on the Brit. “You’d better sit down before you get a cramp.”

“I feel faint,” Steven claimed, plopping back into his chair.

“I’ve got some smelling salts,” Jim offered helpfully.

“Get a room!” Seth insisted to Jack and Misty, although at that moment they weren’t, in fact, doing anything. “It’s disgusting watching you two paw each other.”

“No, I think it’s okay,” Teddy countered, nodding and smiling at a woman across the room. “I think the mojo is starting to spread.”

“Let’s go home,” Jack suggested to Misty, even though she’d just gotten there.

“Well, if you really _want_ to,” Misty agreed with a flirtatious smile, and suddenly Jack really, really wanted to teleport home, instantly.

They both stood quickly. “See you later, guys,” he told his friends at the table, who were busy using his residual mojo to score eye contact with women around the bar. Except Jim, of course, who was kind of a mojo repellant.

“Totally whipped,” Steven reiterated, once Jack was out of earshot.

“Doesn’t seem to mind,” Jim observed.

**

Jack awoke feeling a slight chill and groggily tried to wrap himself up more in the sheet. The thin cotton didn’t do much good, however, and he still shivered a little. He couldn’t remember what he normally would have done in these circumstances, but it would probably have been pretty lazy. Now all he had to do was—

“Misty!”

She appeared immediately, kneeling before the bed. “Yes, Master?”

“I’m cold,” he complained. “Can you get me a blanket? Please?” She dug a light blanket out of the closet and spread it over him.

“Is that better, Master?”

“Yes,” he agreed, “but I’m still cold. Get under here with me.” Obligingly she shimmied under the covers and curled up against him, providing a pleasant warmth. Misty always smelled good, too, like some unidentifiable mixture of spices—a little mint, a little curry, maybe some basil…

“The weather has been increasingly cool,” Misty noted, breaking his haze of snooze. She sounded a little worried, so Jack tried to say something intelligent in response.

“Winter’s coming,” was his mumbled reply.

“What’s winter?”

That made him pry his eyes open and look down at her. “Are you from, like, a tropical climate or something?” he guessed. “You don’t have winter?” Clearly she didn’t. “Winter’s, like, you know, when the days get shorter and the weather gets colder, and it snows, and then there’s Christmas and New Year’s.” Jack punctuated this declaration with a yawn and tried to burrow back into the bed.

“The days get shorter?” Misty repeated in concern. “And it will be even colder?”

“Yeah, it gets dark earlier, and the sun rises later,” Jack explained. “And it will get _really_ cold, like so cold that it doesn’t rain anymore—instead the rain will come down as little frozen bits called snow.” Misty looked as if she truly didn’t believe him, as if she were trying to determine if he were teasing her. “It’s, I dunno, the changing of the seasons,” he said defensively. “You can look it up on the Internet.” The ultimate source of knowledge.

“Then what happens?” Misty prompted.

“Well, then the days get longer again, and the weather warms up, and it’s summer again,” he went on. “It’s a cycle.”

She was quiet long enough that Jack almost went back to sleep. “Must a warrior do battle with a great god or demon, to ensure that the sun will return to the land?”

She sounded perfectly serious and Jack raised his head up to look at her. “Not that I know of,” he responded, trying to keep the smirk off his face. She didn’t like it when he laughed at her. “It’s just—the weather. It’s caused by the Earth going around the Sun. Or something. Happens every year.”

“Oh.” Frankly, he wasn’t sure that she believed him.

**

Steven was slightly startled by Misty’s appearance when she opened the door to Jack’s apartment. She looked like a ghost, pale and listless in the dim light, her face not registering any emotion when she saw him. “Um, hi,” he said after a long moment. “Is Jack awake? Can I come in?”

“Yes,” she replied, stepping back so he could enter. “Please don’t stay long, though. He needs to rest.” Her voice was creepily monotonous.

Jack was reclining on the sofa, juice, snacks, and remote control within reach, but he looked as bored as a normally active guy confined to a couch would. Excitement flared briefly in his eyes when he saw Steven, but there was also concern on his face. “Steven!”

“Hey, man.” The Brit gave his friend a gentle high-five, careful not to jostle him and his tightly-wrapped ribs. “I brought you some of that ham salad you like,” he added, indicating the package he’d brought.

“Excellent,” Jack enthused. “Hey, Misty, baby, take that into the kitchen for me, okay?” Nodding dumbly, the blond took the box from Steven and shuffled away.

The two men watched her leave. “Um, is she okay?” Steven asked in a low voice as soon as she was in the kitchen. “She seems kind of—“

“She’s starving,” Jack admitted with concern. “I’m not supposed to have sex right now. Not even a little.”

Steven blinked at him. “And she seriously can’t eat regular food?” Despite going along with this story and using it to taunt newcomers to the restaurant, he had never really bought it himself. “I mean, _really_? She’s like a walking skeleton.”

“I know,” Jack agreed urgently. He tried to lean forward, then winced and stopped, instead gesturing Steven to lean closer. “I need you to do me a favor.”

“Anything, mate,” Steven avowed.

“It’s a huge favor.”

“Name it.”

“I need you to have sex with Misty.”

Steven blinked at him. “So, what sort of painkillers are you on these days?”

“I’m perfectly serious,” Jack insisted, glancing furtively towards the kitchen. “Listen to me. Misty needs sex to survive. She hasn’t had any in four days! And I’m not gonna be fit for duty for at least another couple of weeks. I don’t know how much longer she can survive.”

Steven peered closely at his friend’s eyes. “You do seem serious,” he admitted slowly.


End file.
